


A Thorough Review

by alSaqr



Category: The Lovecraft Investigations
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, demisexual headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27911464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alSaqr/pseuds/alSaqr
Summary: Matt invites Eleanor to stay with him until the Harlequin business dies down, and Eleanor makes pesto. Some things happen afterwards.
Relationships: Kennedy Fisher/Matthew Heawood, Matthew Heawood/Eleanor Peck
Kudos: 2





	A Thorough Review

It had started out, as many things did, with noble intentions.

The ‘Harlequin’ bullshit had Eleanor Peck rattled and at first, Matthew Heawood had had no idea how to deal with that. Both in terms of coming to grips with it himself, and the fact the usually unflappable professor was (for once) well and truly _flapped_. Eleanor was the rock to which he had anchored the reminder that ‘none of this is real, it’s all crazy cults’. And with his vessel of credulity now adrift in the sea of connections and conspiracy theories, he hadn’t exactly been unflapped himself. He had - in fact - been very flapped indeed. 

At least Kennedy was still in America. Matthew could only imagine the kind of panic attack that would trigger in her. As much as he could, he tried to make sure that Kennedy didn’t hurt like that, especially because of a situation he had inadvertently put her in by suggesting they pursue the Charles Ward case.

Eleanor’s distress, though, he decided, was probably why he had invited her to his place once he’d isolated for two weeks after Iraq and Paris. Not back to the studio; _his place._ His terribly messy flat, with one plant that Kennedy had given him (and which he had _not_ remembered to try and keep alive while he was gone) and barely enough room to swing a cat.

But Eleanor had been working from home since the pandemic had broken out and to his surprise, she’d taken him up on the invitation and thrown yet another spanner into his very careful image of how the world worked. Because throughout all the woo-woo shit, there were constants. Eleanor thought it was “all bollocks”; Kennedy was always there to talk things over or have a drink with; and Matt could sleep at night knowing that he was safe so long as he kept his head.

The first hint that he should have been taking things seriously was Jasper. British Intelligence taking an interest - even as a favour to an old school friend - should have tipped him off. Jasper hadn’t said so at the time, but Matthew was beginning to get the idea that he’d been given the okay to accompany him. Especially when Jasper had stopped pretending he had no idea what was going on and had chartered him and Melanie a plane. And then there was the whole fiasco with the not-Albert Wilmarth, and Melanie Carter running away again, leaving Matt with a lot of papers and questions and very little answers once again.

Jasper had gone off the grid again and Matt hadn’t tried to reach him. But he took some comfort in knowing that his old friend was probably keeping an eye on him. 

None of this had prepared him for the reality of Eleanor Peck staying in his spare bedroom (which was usually his study) for the foreseeable future. There were a couple of hours a day where she had to shut herself in the room with her laptop and a fancy headset and teach a lecture over Zoom… but outside of that, she seemed perfectly comfortable joining him in the living room, and even offering to cook. He had dated before, of course - and that wasn’t what _this_ was! - but he had never had any of his exes move in with him before. And while living with a woman he knew well would have been strange enough, isolating with one he mostly communicated with via text message was even weirder. Not unpleasant; she was a good house guest, and he liked talking to her. But even if they hadn’t been wrapped up in another mystery Matt wouldn’t have known how to read her willingness to move in. 

Nothing at all prepared him for what happened on the night Eleanor convinced him to let her cook…

***

“Parm?”

Matt looked up from his phone, taking a few seconds to register that he’d been spoken to. _Still nothing from Kennedy._ He’d been checking his text app over and over all day, to no avail. The weather app said the weather wasn’t that good in Massachussets and so he’d been trying to convince himself that her phone was just acting up as a result but given everything that was going on… well, he really wanted to warn her about the Harlequin, at the very least.

Blinking a few times he looked from the couch to where Eleanor was standing in the small kitchen, a tub of grated parmesan in hand. She shot him a curious look before shaking her head slightly, and repeating the question.

“Earth to Matthew. Parmesan?”

“Uh, yes,” he responded, absently, as she garnished the pasta with a small smirk. “Just a little.”

A minute or so later, Eleanor slipped onto the couch beside him and handed him a dish of what smelled absolutely divine. He checked his phone one more time and then placed it face-down on the coffee table, accepting a fork with a quiet “thank you”. Eleanor’s speciality, so she’d told him, was pesto. She’d had to make do with the ancient herbs in his cupboards that he had hardly remembered were even there… but the end result looked like how he imagined pesto pasta was supposed to look. _Although it’s usually not made with tri-coloured penne, probably._ Licking his lips, he stabbed a few pieces of cheesy pasta with his fork and dipped his head.

“ _Bon appetit_!”

Eleanor laughed. “Isn’t that supposed to be _my_ line? I’m the cook.” She paused, and then narrowed his eyes at him playfully. “Or am I supposed to wait for your cue before I crack any audio jokes? Don’t think I missed how you cut that episode in season two…”

Matt chuckled through a mouthful of pasta, forgetting himself for a while. It was good pasta, and he’d been very proud of that one. Especially leaving in her protest; they’d gotten a few comments on their website feed laughing at that one. 

“Guilty as charged.” He stuffed another mouthful of pasta in his gob before Eleanor could tell him off, and sat back on the couch. “S’good!”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes but sat beside him in silence. After a while, Matt started flicking through tv channels, trying not to pay attention to his mobile. _It'll vibrate eventually,_ he told himself. _A watched kettle never boils, and all that._ Eventually they settled on _Strictly_ \- not his favourite show by far, but Bill Bailey wasn’t doing too bad - and just sat there in companionable silence. The pasta was excellent and gone pretty quickly, and Matt got up wordlessly and fetched a bottle of wine when the show hit one of the boring interview bits. By the time it was over they were both onto their second glasses and it was warm and nice and Matt couldn’t miss the fact that Eleanor was sitting closer to him, now, than she had been before.

He could feel her knee pressed against his, and looked down with a slightly tipsy smile on his face. _I’ve not been this close to anyone in… a while, really. Not since the night Kennedy needed me._ Over a year ago, now. He blinked, and then noticed that Eleanor’s grip had tightened on the wine flute and that she was watching him, too. And then before he could open his mouth to say anything, she had a hold of his collar and had pulled him into a kiss.

He spilled wine on her shirt, but it didn’t seem to matter. It blossomed red against her shoulder, as though it was trying to warn him of something, but Matt couldn’t think anymore. A soft mouth was on his, breasts pressed against his body, and he found himself returning the affection in kind. His hand slipped up to the small of Eleanor’s back as he blindly placed his glass on the table, and she turned to face him properly. One folded up knee grazed lightly between his legs and Matt’s breath hitched as he tilted his head to the side and pressed for _more._ It had been a long time. Eleanor was not bad looking. _We’ve been through a hell of a lot this year, and somebody wants to kill us._ And she had started it.

Cliché or not, the kiss seemed to go on forever until they both came up for air. Eleanor’s lips were so close to his, wet and red, and Matt could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks. He supposed he should let go of her but instead he put his other hand on her thigh, thumb slipping under the hem of her skirt.

He couldn’t help but feel like a teenager again, fumbling about after a couple of drinks. The wine stain on her shirt was continuing to spread and it would be a _bastard_ to get out and he almost found himself suggesting she just take it off before he caught himself. He kissed her again, then, before he could think about it too much. Quick and just as hungry, his eyes fluttering closed as Eleanor steadied herself with a hand on the back of his neck. She didn’t protest; in fact she didn’t let him up for breath, either. Pushing him back against the arm of the couch she moved to straddle his hips and tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth and Matt knew he was going to get hard, fast. 

“Matt…”

His eyes snapped open, finding hers immediately.

“Eleanor, I…”

“Please.”

This was either wonderful, or terrible. He wasn’t sure which yet, and he didn’t care.

Kissing soon turned to messing around with buttons and zippers. Whatever they had been about to ask each other faded into unimportance. Eleanor’s shirt _did_ come off, and Matt hitched her skirt up and found the top of her tights, almost laddering them in his haste. The couch moved under their weight, lurching as Matt lifted his hips. Eleanor tugged his trousers over his arse, raising her body to awkwardly pull them off as they both tried to keep on kissing each other. He needed this. She needed this. Whether it was just a one time romp on the couch or something more - or how they felt about one another, or other people - didn’t matter right now. She was breathy and desperate and Matt was not one to turn down someone who made a move on him and she felt so _good_ in his lap. 

He had popped a button off her shirt, he realized as he dropped it on the ground. That would need to be fixed.

“ _God,_ ” Eleanor whispered, putting a hand on him through his underwear. “This is - I mean, what about-?”

He couldn’t hear her name, not now. “Eleanor…” Matt put a hand on her cheek, silencing her with a look. He searched her eyes for some hesitation, a sign that he was forcing her to do something out of - what? Gratitude? Pity? But there was none. “Do you _want_ this?”

She bit her lip. “This is all…”

“Bollocks?”

Eleanor laughed. “Yeah. Right, _bollocks._ But God, I want you right now.”

That was good enough for Matt. The tights rolled down over her thighs, he slipped one finger into her knickers. _Wet._ Hooking inside her, he watched with gentle satisfaction as she clenched her legs around his hand, making the most _adorable_ keening sound. Trying to catch her eyes he raised an eyebrow, making sure that it was okay and Eleanor nodded breathlessly. 

He began to stroke, first with one finger and then another. His thumb found her clit, moving the fabric out of the way so that he could get a better angle. With his other head wrapped around his hard cock, moving leisurely, he focused on little more than getting Eleanor to make _that_ noise again. There was a spot he’d found that made her close her eyes and shudder and he chuckled softly as she tried to grind against his knuckles. Her head was tipped back, her hair a mess; the bun was utterly coming apart and sweat soaked her forehead. Matthew wanted to get a look at every inch of her as he worked, occasionally following some moaned direction she gave him, or trying to change up the pace. He wanted the experience to _last._ He wanted Eleanor Peck to stop thinking, to stop _worrying_ , to utterly lose herself and relax.

_Because of me._

And he was not disappointed.

Eleanor grabbed his hand and he let go of himself, only a little frustrated. Wiping precum on his leg, he let Eleanor rest his hand on the catch of her bra, and fumbled to remove it one-handed without losing the pace. Failing, he laughed, adjusting his position and pulling Eleanor with him until she sat on his hand and he could slip his other into one cup of her bra. Forefinger and thumb found a hard nipple and he rolled it between his fingers - gently at first and then, at her insistence, more tightly. He cupped her breast under the lace, studying the freckles on her clavicle and the birthmark on her shoulder. Above him she had closed her eyes, and she looked _divine_. Delirious.

She came, hard, his thumb encircling her clit and his fingers deep inside her. Matt let go of her breasts as Eleanor’s breath caught and she tended up, mouth slightly open. Smiling he let her peak, almost ready to finish himself just from the knowledge he had brought her to orgasm.

Matthew slowed his movements, reluctant to give up his ministrations as she slumped against him, now breathing hard. His cock pressed against her stomach but he ignored the friction as she mouthed at his neck, kissing and sucking with a contented sigh. Slipping his hands out from her cunt he tilted her face to catch her for a quick kiss, feeling just as giddy as she looked. Eleanor practically purred and shuffled to rest her head on his chest, smiling to herself.

“What about…?” she asked, words almost slurred, one hand on his inner thigh. Matt shook his head.

“It can wait. I can wait.” He stoked her cheek with one thumb. “How are you feeling…?”

“That was…” she sighed happily, and shook her head. “Christ, we just…”

“We did. Was it good?” Eleanor nodded wordlessly. “Good. ‘Cause I think I owed you for the pasta.”

Eleanor snorted.

“I hope you didn’t think you owed me for the pasta!”

“It was a joke.” He paused. “Maybe in poor taste, sorry.”

“No, no… but good.”

Matt stroked Eleanor’s hair as she continued to get her breath back and at last, he forgot about checking his mobile. The couch was scarcely big enough for two but it was cosy, comfortable, just lying there entwined with a friend. 

_Friends with benefits, I guess,_ he told himself, curious if this would ever happen again. _I could live with that if_ she _can._ London, Ip’qu Aya, Dagon, for just one night, he could forget everything except the here and now.

“Do you want me to deal with…?”

Eleanor gestured vaguely at his erection, and Matt chuckled quietly. 

“Nah. I’ll be fine. But how are _you_ feeling?”

“Legless?” Eleanor laughed tiredly. “Are you that good with your hands because of the podcasting, or does it come naturally?”

“I like to think it’s a little of both.”

“Well,” she said, decisively, kissing him once more - quickly - on the lips. “Your ratings have just gone up.”

Matt stared at her in disbelief. “That is a _terrible_ joke.”

“Sorry,” responded Eleanor, mock-indignantly, “but did you want a thorough review? Because I think you just fingered my brains out.”

“ _That’s_ a pretty good review,” he commented casually. Eleanor thumped him lightly. “But, seriously. Is this going to be a repeating thing?”

For a moment Eleanor paused, her face twisted in thought. Matt swore inwardly, wondering if he had just colossally fucked _everything_ up. He’d thought this was just a bit of fun, or comfort sex for the stress, or something. Were there feelings here he hadn’t realised? _Does Eleanor actually_ like _me? Like, in_ that _way?_ But the indecision on her face swiftly passed as she shrugged a little too indifferently, prodding him in the chest.

“Do _you_ want it to be?”

“Well I asked you first,” he replied, petulantly. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything-!”

“Matthew Heawood,” declared Eleanor, “if you want to finger me on your couch as good as that again you do _not_ need to ask twice.” She hesitated. “But it’s not a thing, right? I mean, you’re all tied up over…”

Matt pulled an embarrassed, apologetic face. “We should talk about that later. You know,” he shrugged. “Don’t want to ruin a good thing, and all.”

Eleanor gave him a grateful look and cuddled in once more, closing her eyes. “Agreed.”

It had been nice. _More_ than nice. And for all that he tried not to think about Kennedy, now that she had been brought up he found his mind drifting. Certain that Eleanor’s eyes were still closed he reached for the table, quickly checking for any notifications. Still no texts. He sighed quietly and made himself comfortable again as his erection began to dissipate. He had always held a torch for Kennedy; that much was true. Had tumbling about with Eleanor changed that, or just made it more complicated? Right now he didn’t know, and he couldn’t find it in him to care. 

Like he’d said to Eleanor; he didn’t want to ruin a good thing. Whether it was a recurring thing, or a one off, he wanted to savour the look on her face for as long as he could. Getting a partner off always made him feel good, even if he didn’t finish himself. (In some ways, _because_ he didn’t finish himself. He cared more about his partner, always had. It made him, so he’d been told, an attentive lover. But it also made it as good for him as he hoped it was for them. Getting himself off was always an afterthought, unless it would do it for _them_ .) It felt good to be wanted, capable. To know _he_ had reduced Eleanor to a happy, wordless puddle. And after what they’d all been dealing with, it felt good to be utterly distracted for a while.

The two of them just lay there on the couch, cushions knocked to the floor, wine and dishes abandoned. Whatever had come on after _Strictly_ was playing softly in the background, and Matt reached clumsily for the remote to turn it off. Eleanor muttered her thanks, and he supposed that they were on the couch for the night, then. _Might be stiff in the morning,_ he thought, _but it’s better than being alone._

They could talk about it tomorrow, or not - whatever worked. Whatever happened, they were both happy now, and he didn’t want to ruin a good friendship. He had a feeling Eleanor would feel the same way.

“Oh, and Matt?”

She interrupted his thoughts as if from a mile away. Matt stopped drawing patterns on her bare skin, looking down at her with a stupid smile on his face.

“Hmm?”

Eleanor opened one eye and looked up at him with a grin.

“I hope you know _you’re_ paying the dry cleaning bill for my shirt.” 

_Yeah._ They were going to stay friends.


End file.
